Madness
by EspoirDio
Summary: An exploration of Bruce's deteriorating mental health after Arkham City. Happening primarily in the world of Arkham Knight. Spoiler alert if you haven't played the game! Joker/Batman
1. Part One: The Aftermath

**A/N: What can I say? It's that time of year again and a new Batman game is out...and...for whatever reason...whenever I play these games my love for Joker/Batman flares up again (and with half the things Joker says in Arkham Knight...can you really blame me?). This will (probably) be a lot tamer than Rough Teasing...and only have some gay hints? lol I don't know yet as this is only part one. So obviously, if you haven't played the game yet or are playing it and don't want to be spoiled...don't read this story. The first part explores a little bit what happened after Arkham City and leads up to the beginning of Arkham Knight. Let me know your thoughts ;)**

Madness

Part One: The Aftermath

Gotham was slowly hurtling towards Halloween and appeared to have decided– as it was so often the case – to present itself in its most depressing colours.

Bruce Wayne stood by the window of the clock tower that he had chosen to be his new hideout and watched the rain wash down the glass. He was trying to prepare himself for the night that lay ahead of him, filled with the same combination of petty crime and larger than life villains that made Gotham the bleak city it was.

But righteous motivation was difficult to come by these days. Everything seemed to have altered when he had carried the disfigured body of the Joker out of the Monarch Theatre. He should've been grieving for Talia but found himself oddly numb instead. Perhaps years of sacrifice, of suffering losses of the people closest to him had finally taken their toll.

And so he'd spent a little while pondering the changes he could've made if only he'd been ready and willing to kill, the same way Talia had been. He thought about the people that had died, not at his own hand but in direct consequence of his shortcomings.

But in the end all these thoughts led to the same conclusion: He wasn't any more willing to kill now than he had been then. If anything, this recent experience had only confirmed why killing was not the answer. Not that this realisation made him feel any better because it came at the price of having to admit that the Joker had been right all along. He needed the clown and their strange little game as much as the clown had needed him.

Granted, Gotham had an array of villains that still required his attention, not to mention the regular mob wars that left the city wrecked in their wake but there was a predictability to it all that left Bruce feeling rather bored. If everything was so mundane all the time, so stuck in routine how could there ever be fun?

A strange chuckle bubbled up in his throat but he managed to suppress it before it could break free. Feeling nonetheless unnerved by the incident, he quickly turned and paced away from the window and towards a bust that was located on a shelf in the middle of the room. He allowed the computer to scan his retina and then watched as the space transformed into his makeshift bat cave. Perhaps a quick trip around the city would distract him enough and get him out of this funk he was in.

But half an hour later with the icy air whizzing through his cape and cooling his skin he still hadn't managed to steer his thoughts away from the clown prince. Instead he pondered all the mysteries the Joker had taken with him to his grave.

What had his obsession been with him? Why not Robin or Nightwing or Batgirl? Because even when he had engaged with them in his own particular way, it had always been done with the intention of capturing Batman's attention. And why had he chosen him? The crazy maniac and the stable, predictable Batman? How had he never grown bored of him?

Underneath the armoured suit, Bruce's heart ached in a way that caused a heavy nausea in the pit of his stomach. He knew he wasn't supposed to feel like this.

"Aww Batsy, you old softie, do you miss me?"a familiar voice asked, followed by a bout of hysterical giggling that had him touch down on the roof of one of Gotham's skyscrapers with a little more force than he had intended.

But when he whirled around there was no slim figure clad in a purple suit sitting perched on the edge of the building. Nonetheless, Bruce blinked and carefully stalked closer, half expecting a surprise attack from below.

But there was nothing.

Just a drop and a dark alleyway.

Releasing a deep, low sigh, Bruce closed his eyes again.

"Is everything alright, Master Bruce?" Alfred's voice cut through the silence and startled him.

"Yes, Alfred? What's wrong?" he replied, making sure to keep his voice firm and steady.

"There's crime reported all over the city but one especially peculiar case, Sir. An emergency call from a young lady."

"What's the location?"

"It's in Kingston, Sir, at the waterfront. I can track it to a parking garage. I'll send you the coordinates."

"I'm right here, I'll deal with it." And he disconnected their conversation.

"Convenient, eh?"

A flash of green intermingled with the sweet scent of candy and cheap cologne. Bruce growled and resisted the urge to reach out and grab the clown by his throat, knowing that he'd be grasping only thin air.

"Awww Brucie," the green-haired man giggled, "don't be so grumpy. Let's play a little. Let's have a little…" he paused and leaned in closer "fun…"

Bruce shivered and plunged down the side of the building, as far away from the clown as he could possibly get. Glad for the force with which his feet hit the ground that sent a sharp pain shooting up his ankles.

"Delicious," somebody giggled but he shook it off and kept walking.

He only liked the pain, he told himself, because it made him feel alive, because it gave him the sense that he hadn't gone completely insane yet.

"Sooner or later, Brucie."

The playful whisper made him shiver but the giggle that followed this time did not belong to a man. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"I'm glad to see that you've made time for me…"

He could see her mouth move in the dark, could make out the smiling grimace while he stepped closer.

So much like his.

At first he thought Harley Quinn had returned to the city to take her revenge but the voice didn't match.

"Who are you?" he narrowed his eyes.

"Don't you recognise me, Batman? I'm your biggest fan. You should've seen my latest work…I'm surprised you didn't hear. It was quite the scandal."

A girlish giggle that sounded more like a screech to his ears.

Something was very wrong.

"Who are you? What's happened? You were sending out a distress call."

"Was I?" she giggled again, "Oops…I guess I've been bad…"

He saw the blade of the knife flash before she swung his way, ducked and pulled her arm against her back.

"Drop it!"

She whimpered, then chuckled mildly and did as she was told.

"Ohoho…he was right…you do play rough…"

"Answer me!" he barked, twisting her arm up higher.

But she only squealed in delight and tried resisting harder.

"Who are you?" he demanded once more.

"Who I am?" she trembled excitedly and sing-songed: "You are me and we are three! The world we'll slay like Mr J!"

Impatience coursed through him, fury because she dared to talk like him, because she dared to keep him guessing while the rest of Gotham tolerated the regular criminal onslaught on its own.

"The Joker?" he growled, "Tell me what you know about him."

"Careful, Bats," the sweet smell was back and a moment later purple-fabric clad arms snaked around the woman's throat, "we don't wanna break that delicious neck?" He shifted his position and whispered into his ear once more. "Or do we?"

His voice sounded darker now, hungrier and Bruce could vividly picture the blood dripping down his chin, like a hungry dog who had just sunk his teeth into his victim's flesh.

Her screams brought him back to the present and with a growing sense of terror he realised that he had broken her arm by twisting it too much. Shocked and disgusted with himself he stepped away. He expected to see fear in her eyes but found satisfaction instead.

"Now kiss the booboo?"

She stumbled towards him, crushing her lips to his. She drove her teeth into his bottom lip and he growled and pushed her away. She tasted like him, but it wasn't the same. She wasn't Joker enough.

"Oracle, I need you to gather as much information as you can on a Miss…" he held her firmly and scanned her fingerprints for a match "Bell. Tell me anything you find. Her work, her friends, any chemical related accidents."

The woman turned out to be Christina Bell, Executive Director of Queen Industries who had seemingly overnight developed an unhealthy obsession with the Batman. Murdering eleven senior executives at a board meeting she had since disappeared and – as many believed– succumbed to her madness. But of course there hadn't been any other incidents reported that could explain why this strange turn had taken place or why she had suddenly started to resemble the Joker.

That was until more cases appeared all over Gotham. Other citizens who had suddenly changed and started to crave a little bit of humour in their lives. There was nothing to connect them except a couple of recent visits to the hospital. He had examined their blood relations but he hadn't considered their blood.

"You are me and we are three," Bruce repeated silently to himself, while watching how his recently taken inmates were acting in their cells.

 _Of course_.

They had been infected just as he'd been infected months ago.

Why hadn't he thought about that earlier?

What _had_ he been thinking about instead?

"Oh it's alright now, Brucie. You didn't think I'd leave you all alone, did you? That booboo is still a little sore from mommy and daddy, isn't it?" the clown giggled, swinging down from his perching place between the cells. "Although some people fancy picking at that scab again and again and again," he came closer, stabbing his chest with one of his long, white fingers, "I personally don't see the fascination." He laughed at his own joke and then turned to face the other way. "So what do you think about my little guinea pigs? Are they crazy enough to keep you entertained?"

Bruce didn't answer but instead tried steering his thoughts towards a possible solution. Something that would stop the Joker's blood from being circulated around the city.

"Come come now, Brucie, I really need an answer. Are they fucked up enough to satisfy you?"

"Enough…" he thundered and the three infected instantly snapped their heads in his direction.

"Oh I see now how it is…" the Joker whispered into his ear, having suddenly materialised behind him "there has to be a leader…It's you! You're the king of the fools! Vigilante turned villain…it would be tacky if it wasn't so…"

"Funny," Bruce finished for him, this time unable to stop the gurgling laughter that erupted from his body.


	2. Part Two: The Turning Point

**A/N: Sorry it took me so long to come up with part 2. I was struggling a little with the beginning bit and I also wanted to get further in the game so that I could plan the final part a little more accurately.**

 **Again, if you haven't played Arkham Knight yet: Major Spoilers! (and do play it, it's fantastic)**

 **The Riddler text was directly taken from the game so it isn't mine.**

 **I'll get working on the 3rd and final part as quickly as I can. In the meantime, thanks for the reviews, I hope the second part doesn't disappoint and...let me know your thoughts? :) (and also talk to me about BatJokes...I cannot resist)**

Part Two: The Turning Point

Gotham was eerily silent now and yet alive with movement. Most of its population had left when Scarecrow had released the first load of fear gas and published his threats. But the other criminals and thugs had stayed behind, thrilled at the idea of finally being in charge of the city. It was only an illusion, of course, because even in the world of crime there had to be a hierarchy and as tough as the thugs liked to talk, they were definitely at the bottom end. Not that that stopped them from destroying the city while they still felt empowered.

Bruce could feel it all vibrating with devious schemes, bank robberies and hidden threats underneath the wheels of his Batmobile as he raced through the city. In the wake of Scarecrow's announcement Gotham had erupted in crime and Bruce was beginning to feel a little stretched. Alfred liked to remind him that he had other supporters on his side who'd be more than willing to help him but now that the mysterious Arkham Knight had captured Barbara, he didn't dare to get any more of his friends involved.

But that wasn't the only reason why. Infected with the Joker's blood and starting to hallucinate already, Bruce didn't trust himself to be anywhere near them. He didn't know what he feared the most: Attacking them when he was overcome once more by one of his violent episodes or that they would realise what was happening to him and lock him away.

"Yes…being locked away can certainly put a damper on things," the clown giggled near his ear," although it'd be funny to see the holy Batman – capturer of so many villains – get a taste of his own medicine. The joke's on you so to speak."

As the giggling continued, Bruce's lips curled involuntarily into a smile. It was frightening how used he'd become to the clown's presence and twisted sense of humour in such a short period of time. It was almost as if some of the emptiness he had felt since his death had suddenly been filled.

"Focus now, Batsy," the clown reminded him sternly "we have a hostage to find. Not that she could've gone very far." He erupted into loud laughter but sobered quickly when Bruce didn't react. "Get it?"

Bruce shook his head dismissively and focused on driving once more. The trail led him deep into Miagani Island and towards a barrier behind which the broken skeleton of a still smoking vehicle could be found. He quickly climbed out of the Batmobile and began scanning the area for clues.

He barely noticed that he was holding his breath. But he needn't have worried about Barbara. She'd always been more than capable and although her sudden disability had come at a great loss, she'd still been determined to be as involved as she'd always been.

"Yes…that Gordon girl always had a lot of spunk," the Joker acknowledged, grinning happily, "if I would've know that she'd turn into an even greater thorn in my side than that plant-loving lunatic, I would've shot her a couple more times."

"Shut up," Bruce growled while examining the piece of evidence Barbara had dropped for him.

 _She is not going to die._

"Alfred, I've traced the car as far as I could. Barbara got out. She left a clue but then the Arkham Knight took her. But I'm going to track her down."

"Good. But Master Bruce? Might I add that while you were busy trying to find Miss Gordon, another radio message addressed to you was detected?"

"Scarecrow can wait, Alfred." Bruce muttered, pacing back to the Batmobile.

"That would be a grave underestimation of the situation, Sir. The message is not from Scarecrow, it's from the Riddler."

"I don't have time for this, Alfred!" Bruce bristled, whipping the Batmobile around.

"Yes, Alfred. Our Brucie has been feeling a teeny tiny bit hormonal lately." The Joker quipped.

"I appreciate that, Master Bruce. However, I do advise you listen to the message before you discard it. You might change your mind."

"Alright…thank you, Alfred." He sighed and with a sinking feeling of growing doom he selected the message and listened while he drove.

"Riddle me this, why would a Batman visit an abandoned orphanage?"

Behind the mask, Bruce rolled his eyes. But then it shifted to another voice.

"Eddie, sweetie, you've confused me with Robin. The big guy and I aren't all that close."

 _Selina._

Then it cut back to the Riddler. "Oh, I know! It's because of what will happen to his feline friend if he doesn't get here in time. Shocked, Dark Knight? Stunned? You didn't expect this, did you? That is because you are no match for me, Edward Nigma, the Riddler and your intellectual superior. Did you think I would just forget our last meeting, Dark Knight? You humiliated me. I know you will not beat me this time. It is utterly impossible. You cannot do it. I have won already. I will mock your attempts to solve my conundrums, I will stand triumphant over your bloodied corpse. And as the dim light fades for good in your tiny dullard's mind, your final thought will be how I have bested you. Come to the orphanage, detective. Or she dies."

"Ah dear Eddie," the Joker giggled, "always so dramatic, always so pompous. Never got his obsession with riddles, either. What's the point of posing a puzzle that can actually be solved? Where's the fun in that?"

If Bruce hadn't been driving, he would've pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I have to save her…" he muttered instead and earned a scoff in response.

"That ex-lover of yours? Or what's your current relationship status? Off? On? Off? On? If the two of you wouldn't have been so busy gallivanting around Arkham City perhaps you'd have found a cure quicker and I could've lived."

"Your death was your own fault, Joker." Bruce growled in return and a minute later they burst through the gates at the orphanage.

He didn't have the patience to deal with the Riddler's trials and was too preoccupied to deal with Selina's flirtatious comments either. His mind kept drifting back to Barbara, to the state she might be in, to the things the Arkham Knight or Scarecrow might be putting her through at that very second.

His concerns fuelled his anger and he destroyed a few of the Riddler's robotic helpers with a little more force than necessary.

"That's right, Brucie, give in to that rage. Tear them apart. Kill them." The Joker whispered but Bruce only shook him off.

He couldn't risk losing his mind now. Instead – once he had ensured Catwoman's freedom – he dedicated all of his energy to finding Barbara.

But he was still too late.

When they met again, there was only a sheet of bullet-proof glass separating them. Strong enough to keep him out, but transparent enough to let him witness every last second of her gruelling death.

It was too simple, really.

Triggered and driven insane by fear gas, she shot herself.

But as the sound of the gunshot reverberated through him and intermingled with the Joker's laughter, Bruce plunged into the abyss that Scarecrow had created. His body felt constricting all of a sudden, as if he couldn't breathe properly. His chest expanded frantically against his armour and he began scratching away at it, clumsily trying to peel away the layers.

When that didn't work, he fell down on his knees, pounding his fists against the glass.

"Barbara! No!"

"Let it go, Brucie, she's gone." The Joker whispered softly into his ear but Bruce whirled around so quickly that he managed to grab him by the throat.

"You will not talk about her!" he yelled but the clown only tossed back his head and laughed more.

"Make me."

There was something decidedly more seductive about him now and Bruce quickly dropped him as if he had burned his hand.

The bright stage lights of the Monarch Theatre next caught his attention and the restricted feeling in his chest returned with a vengeance.

He had to get out of there but all the doors he ran to were locked.

"Leaving so soon?" the Joker asked woefully, gently caressing his back above the armour.

He turned around again, trying to shove him away but found his eyes glued on something else instead. A table for two was set up in the centre of the room and in the background the jukebox was softly playing a tune.

 _Only you can make this world seem right_

 _Only you can make the darkness bright_

"What are you doing to me?" he whispered, clicking the button that allowed him to remove his head armour.

"Nothing you wouldn't enjoy," the Joker promised silkily, "now, that's a good boy. Take it all off."

 _Only you and you alone_

 _Can thrill me like you do_

Bruce hesitated for a second. His head was pounding so hard that he could hear the blood rushing through his veins. Something told him that it would be fatal to let his guard down, to allow the clown to take over but it was so difficult when his hands were expertly sliding over his body, removing the rest of his armour piece by piece.

He felt almost drugged and for a second couldn't even carry the weight of his own body anymore so that he sagged against the other man's lean figure.

"Sssh sssh Brucie, not yet, not yet. We're not quite done here." He slapped his cheek harshly and Bruce startled upright.

The old instinct told him to flee again.

 _Only you can make this change in me_

 _For it's true, you are my destiny_

"Barbara…I have to…" he muttered to himself and unsteadily tried to turn around towards the door again but nails dug into his neck and yanked him back into position.

"I said we're not done yet." The clown repeated softly into his ear and then rested his head on his shoulder.

With his nails still driving into his flesh he coaxed him to sway to the music.

"Besides…we both know that it's too late. Scarecrow got to her first. And you only stood there and watched. Just like you did with your parents. Oh Brucie, how disappointed they'd be right now."

The soft giggle in his ear was both thrilling and terrifying.

 _When you hold my hand_

 _I understand the magic that you do_

"So Bruce, why don't we cut the crap?" he asked next, stepping back a bit so that he could run his hands from his neck down to his chest. "We both know what to do. Why don't we take out that strong, tough body of yours and use it to get some revenge, mmh? I know you want to."

Feeling dazed still, Bruce nodded. "I'll find him…I'll put him behind bars."

"Nonono, Bats. Why can I never get through to you?" the Joker wailed plaintively, stepping away from him.

Bruce's vision grew blurry and then faded altogether when something hard collided with his head.

"As my daddy always used to say," the clown giggled triumphantly, "if you won't listen I'm gonna have to knock some sense into you."

Bruce scrambled around on his knees, trying to orientate himself. He could hear something swooshing through the air again and a second later the pipe collided with his head once more.

He groaned and gagged and collapsed altogether.

Everything went dark.

Then the clown spoke once more.

"Now come, Batsy, don't disappoint me. Even little Jason could handle more than that."

"Jason…" Bruce groaned, trying to clamber upright but the movement only pushed him off balance and nearly sent him tumbling back to the floor.

"Yes, you remember him?" the Joker giggle, "What a disappointment he turned out to be. _"Batman will come and rescue me. He'll kill you."_ Blah blah blah. But good old Batsy never came."

"You killed him!" Bruce bellowed, finding some energy at last and using it to pin the clown against the nearest wall.

"Just like Scarecrow killed Barbara," the other man reminded him gleefully.

The patience he'd so desperately been trying to cling onto slipped out of his fingers at last and he smashed the clown against the wall repeatedly. Paint splintered away and then seemed to settle in little specks on the Joker's forehead.

Blood red.

A masterpiece.

But he didn't stop then. Couldn't.

Again and again he shoved him and at the final blow ensured that their heads collided. Both their skulls gave a sickening crunch while his knees buckled under him.

 _You're my dream come true_

 _My one and only you_

The song from the jukebox slowly faded and dead silence settled around him. Blindly, he reached out a hand, trying to steady himself on the wall or trying to feel for a piece of fabric that belonged to the Joker's purple suit. He wasn't sure.

There was nothing.

He panted, deep and heavily, inhaling gasps of stale air. But the peace didn't last and someone's arms closed roughly around his throat, yanking his head backwards.

"You're such a turn on when you get mad, Brucie." The old familiar voice murmured. "That's why I'll only hurt you a little bit."

One arm disappeared but the other one still held him firmly. Suddenly something sharp was driven into the flesh between his shoulder-blades. His body shuddered in a spasm as he let out a scream.

"Oops."

Delighted giggling.

"Just a teeny, tiny incision."

The pain drew a burning trail down his spine.

"You'll still need to walk. Otherwise we won't be able to play anymore."

When he was done he drove the heel of his shoe into the fresh wound and kicked him onto the floor.

"While you recover I'm sure you won't mind me borrowing this?"

Bruce tilted his head tiredly but just enough to see the Joker slip into the Batsuit.

"No!" he yelled, trying to push himself up but the pain in his back was paralysing.

"Death is a funny thing, Brucie. It's really the punchline of the joke, isn't it? After all, am _I_ not meant to be dead?"

Bruce muttered an incoherent curse and tried reaching for the clown's now armoured leg in a last attempt at yanking him down to the floor but he easily evaded the attack and stamped on his hand instead.

Everything went dark after that.

When Bruce regained consciousness again he wasn't at the Monarch Theatre anymore. Instead he was gazing through the glass at Barbara's lifeless body once more.

"A-Alfred?" his voice shook a little, "Barbara's gone." He could hear the crackle of the static but hurriedly continued before the butler's words could change his mind. "I'm going after the Arkham Knight. And then I'm going to stop Scarecrow."

"Very well, Master Bruce." The butler responded reluctantly, "But are you alright?"

"I am. Don't worry about me, Alfred."

But in the reflection of the glass green eyes gleefully flashed back at him.


	3. Part Three: The Last Laugh

**A/N: Thank you so much for the faves! I'm glad some of you out there liked this little story. :)**

 **This is the final part and I'd be very interested to hear your thoughts. I know that the game had a pretty open ending so I decided to go down this route which I hope some of you will enjoy. And one last time: If you haven't finished this game yet and don't want to see any spoilers, don't read this! :)**

 **To the rest of you: Thanks for reading and do leave me a review if you've got a minute!**

Part Three: The Last Laugh

Everything that happened after that passed Bruce by in a blur. He had dedicated his life to fighting crime but never before poured so much energy into revenging a single person. There had always been something or someone keeping him on the right path but now with the Joker inside him there was no holding back.

He was so focused on the task ahead that he didn't notice that some vital things had slipped his attention; hadn't listened carefully enough when the Arkham Knight had dropped all his hints. So the confrontation with Jason had come as a surprise and almost instantly had twisted his thoughts and emotions around.

He felt foolish for believing the Joker when he had told him that he had killed Jason, he felt guilty for abandoning him and finding another Robin, but he also felt annoyed at the grudge Jason had held all these years and angry for the lengths he'd been willing to go to get his revenge on him.

"Barbara died because of you! You sacrificed her!" he wanted to yell but there were more pressing matters.

The shock of battling Jason had barely worn off when another friend he'd come to rely on fed him to the dogs. He didn't know what shocked him more, the fact that Jim Gordon had betrayed him or the fact that he had made a pact with the Scarecrow of all people.

Personal experience had taught him that people would do anything to protect their family but somehow he had hoped that they wouldn't go as far as to pawn him off. He had considered them his family, and had hoped that in turn they might think of him as the same. But the truth was that he was nothing more than a masked vigilante to them. Good enough one day, replaceable the next.

"Where's the off button for this depressing inner monologue?" the Joker asked, imitating a gagging sound, "Have you always had such a flair for the dramatic or is that me coming through?"

Bruce ignored him and concentrated on the task at hand instead: helping Barbara as best as he could.

But not at all fazed by his silent treatment the Joker continued. "I guess the cape and the pointy ears should've been a tip-off."

But even his humour wasn't enough to coax an answer out of Bruce.

* * *

The end of the tale was laughably predictable, really. In exchange for Jim and the now kidnapped Robin, the Scarecrow demanded that the Batman would turn himself in and take off his mask, revealing to the whole world that he was nothing but a man that could succumb to his fears as well.

And so Bruce decided to give the people what they wanted for the very last time. He was sure he was going to die and yet felt oddly relaxed about it. Perhaps it was the Joker influencing him, remembering his words about death being only the punchline to the joke, or perhaps he had expected it to end like this all along. But there had been a certain elation when he finally got to take his belt off and hand himself over.

He didn't struggle against Crane and allowed him to tie him down without a word, awaiting the climax the whole evening had been hurtling towards with something like indifference. Even the unmasking felt strange as everyone in the room except for Crane already knew his identity and Bruce didn't get to see first-hand what this revelation caused in the world.

But when Scarecrow showed off his syringe claws there was something more pressing to focus on. It was a predictable move, of course, but he still tried to prepare himself as best as he could.

A sharp pain and then the familiar darkness that descended upon him. He'd been through this before, time and time again, always the Scarecrow's favourite victim. He didn't feel immune and the same old trepidation soon filled his body, but he knew what to expect.

It always started off in a dark alley that he'd come to know as Park Row. He'd be on his own near the stage door of an old theatre. Bruce followed the familiar path and stopped in the usual place. There was no way out, he was always trapped. Trapped and forced to watch as his parents emerged from the shadows, followed by a younger version of himself. Soon the thugs would appear, that much he knew but this time the dream was different.

Instead of the lingering darkness, the well-lit marquee of the Monarch Theatre caught his attention. And as several versions of the Joker climbed over the fences that surrounded him realisation dawned.

It had been at the backyard of a theatre that he had lost the most important people in his life. People whose losses he hadn't been able to cope with.

"Poor little Brucie…all on his own," one of the jokers cooed and then pretended to retch, "is it just me or is anyone else getting a bit bored of this story?"

"It's not a story it's my life!" Bruce growled and punched the nearest joker square in the face.

But the other ones only laughed.

"Not a very good one!" another shouted and Bruce attacked him next.

Purple fabric slipped through his hands, bones shattered under his boots but the laughter didn't stop.

So he kept going, punching harder and harder, until red mixed with white, until whimpers filled the air just as they had done the night his parents had died.

"Now you're getting the hang of it, Brucie," the last remaining Joker whispered, "punch me, come on, break my bones!"

Bruce growled angrily and pulled him roughly against his chest. The other man didn't fight, he only giggled and rubbed himself against him.

"Fuck me up, Bruce, I dare you." His voice was lower now, more vulgar.

"Why do you never shut up?" Bruce demanded, closing his arm around the clown's neck.

The scent of candy and cologne was back, it filled his nostrils and stirred something in him.

"Because you don't want me to. I'm in your head, Brucie, I'm inside you…just as you've always wanted it."

Bruce swallowed and panted against the other man's ear who shivered pleasantly.

"I love it when you're angry and ruthless. You're much more fun to play with." And he rubbed his butt against his crotch.

Bruce felt his determination slipping then and pushed the Joker away.

"I'm not yours to play with!" he bellowed and watched as a smirk slowly sprawled across the clown's face.

"Say it like you mean it." He whispered sweetly.

Groaning in frustration he grabbed him once more, his hands closing around his neck a second time.

"Kill me, Brucie, I dare you." The clown giggled and Bruce closed his eyes.

He could feel the clown's neck snap but he couldn't bear to watch it.

But even through the darkness behind his closed lids he could feel the scene shifting. He felt oddly liberated and oddly in charge. Was it because he had stood up to his biggest fear and killed the Joker a second time? Or was there a sense of freedom, a sense of satisfaction that came with killing?

"Oh Brucie you're a riot!" the old familiar voice pierced the silence and taunted him menacingly. "Did you really believe that this was one of those stories where the hero lives up to his fears and defeats them that way?"

He sighed and slowly opened his eyes again.

"No," he exhaled and continued slowly, "this is one of those stories where there are no heroes. Just villains. And one punishes the other by letting him experience _his_ biggest fear. So what is it, mmh?"

The smile on the other man's face began to twitch. "Fears are for party poopers like you and bag face over there."

"Oh really?" Bruce questioned lowly, stepping closer, resuming the position behind the Joker that he had previously taken. "Let's take a look then, shall we?"

He buried his face in the other man's neck, inhaled his scent for a last time and then plunged him into a dark corridor. He could see that the Joker was scared, caught him trembling as he turned corners, always keeping up his arrogant façade. This punishment disgusted him and turned him on at the same time.

"So this is why you cling to me so desperately. You're afraid of being forgotten. Without me you're just another lunatic roaming the streets."

"Ohoho, Brucie, you slay me." The Joker whirled around to face him. "We both know that I'm not like the rest. At least not to you. You want me around, you wait for another sign of me. If not you already would've killed me years ago. You would've killed me for what I did to poor little Jason."

Bruce exhaled sharply and took another step back, his words cutting straight to the guilt he still carried around.

"But you couldn't bear to lose me," the Joker taunted now, approaching him with one of his switchblades, "you'd like to defeat me and a part of you even enjoys humiliating me like this, you sick little pervert," he continued lovingly and proudly "but you can't bear to let me go. We're made for each other."

"Not anymore," Bruce growled angrily but didn't dodge his attack so that his switchblade sank through his armour right into his flesh.

He howled in pain but used the Joker's brief moment of triumph to grab him and toss him towards one of the cells.

"Please Bruce," the clown now begged, clinging onto the sides of the cell, "you know I'm right. You liked how liberated I made you feel. You were almost disappointed when you discovered that Barbara was still alive. They are all that's keeping you, that's restraining the beast we both know lives inside you. You know that if you want to be free you need to cut them off first!"

"Goodbye, Joker!" Bruce said firmly, but he was panting from the effort it took to slam the cell door shut.

"You need me and I need you!"

"I don't."

He pushed him away but as the clown faded into oblivion their eyes locked and they both broke into a smile.

"Liar!" the Joker mouthed, his laugh echoing through the now deserted chamber.

* * *

The familiar vibrations of the Batmobile reverberated through him once more.

It had been a long night. Too long.

He smiled and navigated through the city towards the GCPD.

The stillness was broken by soft moans. Scarecrow had woken up in the back of the car. He'd passed out previously when Bruce had infected him with his own toxin.

"Hello Crane," Bruce said and his voice was dripping with amusement.

"No…no…" the other man nervously stammered and caused Bruce's rich laugh to echo through the vehicle.

"Tell me, what did you see when the fear toxin was coursing through your veins?"

"Evil," the doctor whispered and Bruce laughed louder.

Expertly he manoeuvred the Batmobile down the last stretch of the way and then slid to a halt in front of the police department. He didn't bother putting his mask on, just as he didn't bother tying Scarecrow up again. He wouldn't be any trouble now.

The policer officers whispered as he passed but Aaron Cash only smiled.

"Best gift you've brought us all night." He tugged Scarecrow closer and shot a look at his colleagues who were still muttering behind his back. "So Bruce Wayne, huh?" he asked "If it's all the same to you I'll stick to Batman."

Bruce smiled politely but was spared an answer when the Scarecrow wildly muttered: "Nono!"

"You sound scared Crane!" Cash chuckled, eyeing him a little nervously nonetheless. "What is it you're trying to say?"

"Gotham's end…" he muttered and Cash chuckled now.

"Too late, buddy. We've stopped you."

"Nono," Crane repeated frantically, "Gotham's end will be seen…"

"He's been mumbling things since he's had a taste of his own medicine." Bruce explained and Cash nodded.

"Keep talking…" he grinned and Bruce turned his back on them, making his way towards the Batmobile.

"When a bat's caught between the purple and green!"

The men laughed loudly and Bruce himself broke into a grin, a big one that seemed to stretch his lips unnaturally far.

Relieved of his final duty he slipped into the Batmobile and started driving towards Wayne Manor. Halfway there he glanced into the back mirror and smiled.

"You've been awfully quiet."

In the back the clown prince of crime lay languidly stretched out and smiled back at him.

"Told you you wouldn't like it if I permanently shut up, Brucie."

Bruce only chuckled.

"So where are we going? Back home to dear Alfred?"

"Yes," he grinned "and no. It's time to take back Gotham."

The clown sat up looking intrigued now and then leaned in to whisper: "And how do we do that?"

"By cutting all our ties." Bruce repeated dutifully.

"Heeheehee!" the Joker giggled euphorically and clapped his hands.

Just then the familiar gates of Wayne Manor shifted into view, surrounded now by dozens of reporters. Bruce calmly altered the speed of the Batmobile and drove past them towards the front door where he climbed out.

"The Batman was never what Gotham deserved," he hummed to himself, feeling the Joker's blood prickle under his skin, "Gotham needs someone freer, someone more fun, someone utterly _mad_!"

And he scaled the steps and disappeared in the darkness of the building.


End file.
